The Call
by RosemarieCraig
Summary: House gets a call from his father. John House's best friend has some mysterious symptoms, and our favourite misanthropic doctor is the only one who can save him. But how will a father and son such as the House's get along, and what mysteries will be revealed along the way? Bad summary, but you get the idea. Abuse Warning
1. Chapter 1

House placed his guitar lovingly back on it's mount on the wall, finally relaxing after his long two day stint at the hospital. It had been a difficult patient, a child. He could never leave a child without finding out what was wrong. Taking a swig of scotch, he limped towards the kitchen to grab a cereal bar to replace dinner. It was nearing midnight, and he didn't feel like cooking. The knowledge that he hadn't eaten anything for over 24 hours, much less slept, had escaped him. As he was turning away, heading for bed, the phone rang. His brows furrowed. No one ever called him that late. He pulled himself along the wall to get to the phone. Picking it up just before the last ring, he said a breathless "hello"

"Good evening Gregory" the cold voice echoed in House's head. It was so familiar, calculating and manipulative as always. It struck the fear of God in him.

"Hey Dad" he said quietly, with all the submissiveness of his childhood.

"What are you doing right now?"

"I just got a cereal bar, and I'm heading for bed"

"Have you done drills?"

"No. I can't anymore, you know that" immediately, House regretted adding the last part.

"Don't talk back to me!"

"Sorry"

"You've been going on about that damn leg for far too long, Gregory. Time to get over it and be a man"

"They took 5 pounds of muscle out of my thigh! I can't run anymore than you can do math or play piano!" House's eyes widened at his unexpected words.

"You're pathetic, you know that? You're just weak. I can't believe I managed to raise such a loser!" John kept up the verbal tirade for about five minutes. House stood by the phone, looking at the floor. It was always the same. Every time his father called, it always ended up like this. The man called at least three times a month, all though his adult life, making sure to keep up the endless torture of childhood.

"Sorry Dad. Was there anything you wanted?" House wanted desperately to hang up the phone and go to sleep, his leg twitching under him, aching for his bed.

"They say you're a good doctor" John said it as though he didn't believe it, gruffly admitting the fact.

"The best" House was proud, even if the praise was veiled, it was praise.

"My mate, Peter, he's sick. No one can cure him. I said I'd ask..."

"What's wrong with him? I only take interesting cases"

"He's having a hard time concentrating, a couple of seizures, his neck's stiff, he's depressed, his head hurts, he's irritable, he's struggling with telling hot and cold, and he's generally tired and weak"

"That's it? That's everything?"

"Are you accusing me of lying?"

"No. Fine. Bring him in. I'll get Cuddy to check him in as an inpatient. I'll get to him day after tomorrow"

"Why not tomorrow?" John snarled, he expected instant results from his son.

"Spent two nights awake curing my last patient. He was six, getting diddled by daddy" House curled his lips around the words.

"No reason to delay-"

"I haven't slept in 54 hours. I haven't sat down in 13. My leg hurts. I'm exhausted. I'll see your friend day after tomorrow"

"Gregor-" House slammed down the phone, wearily staggering off to bed. It rang again and again for half an hour, and House finally went to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

For the short remainder of the night, House was plagued by nightmares. Sharp memories of ice baths and getting licks in the cellar and sleeping outside and not being allowed to eat. He felt all over again the inadequacy of his youth, of not being able to do anything right. Of having to be punished for the smallest thing. And his mother not knowing, not seeming to care. House woke up with a start, sweat trickling down his face, his leg protesting sharply at the sudden movement. Reaching for the Vicodin, he tried to banish the memories from his head. 'You're not a little kid anymore, Greg. Time to grow up, toughen up like he said.' House dragged himself out of bed once the pills had started working. After a shower he pulled on jeans, Cuddy's favourite blue t-shirt/shirt combination and his leather jacket. If he was going to see John House for the first time since the fiasco with Cameron, he was going to do it in style. First stop, bitchin' cane shop. He bought a smooth black one with a dark red handle. It shone as bright as his baby grand piano. Happy with his choice, House rode to the hospital.

"You're not supposed to be in today. You were up-" Cuddy sounded concerned. He'd had reports of House over obsessing on the kid's case. She knew he hadn't eaten or slept. He'd yelled at his team, almost punched the father when he worked out the cause of the kid's illness and looked so exhausted last night she was worried about him driving.

"I'm fine, Cuddles. I slept, and I have a new case"

"How?"

"I got a phone call. Symptoms were discussed. I was interested"

"And this has nothing to do with your father rampaging through the corridors of my hospital trying to find you?"

"Nothing at all. As far as I know, I'm not treating him" House flinched internally. He was here already. He'd thought he had time to prepare. To tidy his office a little, not enough for the team to notice it was clean, but enough for his father not to notice it was messy.

"Peter Jones was admitted this morning. I take it that's who you're treating?"

"Yeah. Can I go do my job now Mom?"

"Don't upset your dad. I know you're irritating, but you really rub him the wrong way!" she sent him out of her office with a flourish. House scowled. She had no idea. He never meant to upset his father. He'd spent years trying hard to avoid that at all costs. Not that it had helped. House shut the door behind him and shuddered slightly. He remembered the pain of disappointing his father. Allowing himself a half second to recover, House limped across the lobby to the elevator, got in and jabbed the 4 button. He was alone in the cool wooden space, and he breathed, leaning against the side to take his weight off his leg. As soon as the door opened, he was faced with Chase, his concerned eyes studying him.

"What?"

"Our patient, he's your Dad's friend, right?"

"Yeah"

"Have you spoken to him yet?"

"I never talk to patients" House pushed past the younger man and burst into the conference room. Foreman and Cameron were looking at him with the same concern as Chase.

"I meant your dad, House"

"I know. Look, all three of you, I am not the patient here. You're not to go poking into things you're not needed in. Now, are we ready to do our jobs?" the team nodded slowly, and House leaned against the whiteboard, writing the symptoms on in large black letters.

"Diabetes?" said Foreman

"Blood sugar is normal"

"Wilson's?" Cameron suggested

"Cushing's?" Chase injected

"Vitamin K Deficiency" Forman again.

"Okay, test for Cushing's, Wilson's, Vitamin K and Cluster headaches. And give him antibiotics for the infection"

"No fever" Forman pointed out

"But one of his symptoms is insensitivity to heat. He might have missed it"

"And our machines missed it too?" Cameron said skeptically

"Intermittent"

"Fine, we'll go broad spectrum" Forman relented. The team stood up and left the room, leaving their boss leaning awkwardly on the whiteboard, keeping his bad leg half an inch above the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

Shout to bamber062298 for giving me the idea for the bit with the cane. Cheers.

"All the tests were negative, and he's had two more seizures since we admitted him" Cameron reported, watching House throw his ball high into the air and catch it over and over.  
"Has he had any visitors?"  
"Your dad is in there" Cameron said quietly  
"Wonderful. What's he been saying to you?" House looked accusingly at his employees. They were in the dark still. It was still his secret. No one else could know. He hid the tremor of panic well.  
"He's been laughing and joking with Peter about Vietnam. He... He wants to see you. Something about not thinking you're doing it right if you don't even meet the patient. We told him you don't work like that. But he insisted" Chase looked at his mentor with piercing eyes. House looked back, just for a moment, and the two men shared House's reluctance to see John. He'd creeped Chase out.  
"Nothing needs to change. Give me new ideas" House said, rolling his ball between his hands, thinking deeply. The team brainstormed, argued with each other, and finally decided on tests. House threw in a head CT and an EKG. Then he was alone in his office. Realising this, and, for once, not enjoying the quiet, he got up. His balcony was refreshing, the cool air breezing past him. Wilson looked up from his paperwork and came out to join his best friend.  
"So. Your Dad's here" Wilson stated  
"Yup"  
"Your'e avoiding him"  
"Yup"  
"I talked to him this morning" Wilson said quietly. House's eyes widened in shock and betrayal "he was hanging around the corridor, and I told him you weren't in"  
"That was all? What else did he say to you?"  
"Nothing much. Something about not doing your job. Something about duty"  
"Sounds like him" House said bitterly. "I'm not going to speak to him"  
"Don't be childish, House. He's your dad, whatever petty feud you had when you were a kid is irrelevant. Don't treat his friend any different than any other patient. Take your dad out to dinner, outside hospital hours. I'll come round for takeout if you like. Just, be an adult about this and speak to him!" Wilson had his hands on his hips; House was glaring at him open mouthed. He had no idea. House was briefly lost in memories of the cellars in his houses as he grew up. They'd never been in one place for more than a year, so there were a lot of different ones. He remembered one in Egypt, where he'd not been able to get up to go to bed, just laid there, the welts on his back oozing blood, his fragile self esteem crushed and stamped on, his ribs aching with bruises from the kicking. Wilson had no idea what he was talking about. House turned and went back into his office, fuming. He picked up his red ball again and threw it forcibly against the wall, catching it nimbly. He had always enjoyed throwing and catching a ball. It had been the thing that kept him grounded, stopped him going insane when he was locked in the cellar for hours at a time. He was good at it, graceful. Which was why he was captain of every sport he played. House remembered, as the ball hit down softly, rhythmically, on his hand, sitting in the back yard in Japan, staring at the fence, one wrist tied to a tree, having been banished from the table for coming in two minutes late. He remembered the thud of a tennis ball against the fence, the recoil of his hand as he caught it, over and over. It was soothing, playing with the ball. He'd always loved it. House stood abruptly, stumbling slightly and grabbed his cane. No way his father being there would change anything. He could still walk around the hospital, he could still bully nurses, stare at Cuddy's ass, make the team search the home, do risky procedures. He could still be... himself. Or whatever version of himself he projected during office hours. He got into the elevator and pressed 2. If he wanted to, he could even visit the patient. It had nothing to do with his dad. Nothing at all. He needed to see if the guy was lying. He needed an interview. The elevator stopped and House's heart beat quickened as he limped closer to room 2149. He debated knocking. But he was trying to be his normal self, and his normal self did not knock. So he took a deep breath, steadied himself leaning on his cane, his shoulders hunching, and went in.  
"So, you started seeing all in green yet?" House said brusquely without introduction, ignoring his father in the chair next to the bed.  
"No. You must be Gregory. Your Dad's told me so much about you!"  
"In here, I'm a doctor. Dr House"  
"Aw, ain't that sweet, John?"  
"We think you might have cancer" House said, clenching his hand tighter around his cane.  
"Cancer?"  
"Yup. Unless that needs further explanation, I'm leaving" House turned to leave, and got half way out of the door before he felt himself being swung around.  
"Hey! You didn't even tell him what type" John faced his son. House was very slightly taller than his father, but leant on his cane was around the same height.  
"We don't know yet. All I know is I think he had cancer"  
"That's pathetic! You're supposed to be a good doctor-"  
"Yeah, and I don't just pull this stuff out of a hat, you know! It's hard, and I spent enough time in collage to know that!"  
"You should know!" John yelled  
"We have to run tests, I'm not just going to guess" the men were shouting now, their faces getting closer together. They were an image of confrontation.  
"Come with me. Let's do this privately" John said quietly. House's breathing quickened. That had been code throughout his childhood for 'you're going to be punished, and I don't want your mother to see how weak you are'. But he was an adult now. John couldn't do anything to him. House turned on his heel and led his father to an empty conference room. John shut the door behind them.  
"What?" House spat, his hand shaking slightly. Shit, he was frightened. Greg House was never frightened.  
"Don't you use that tone with me"  
"I can use whatever tone I want. I'm an adult now, Dad, and I can do what I want" House took a deep breath. No way he'd just said that.  
"You're inching across the line" John threatened "I'm this close to losing it" he squinted at his thumb and forefinger, held an inch apart. House rolled his eyes.  
"Yeah, right. What are you going to do? Shut me in the cellar? Beat me up? Ice me? Lock me outside? Stop talking to me? The only one you can do here is the last one, and I kinda hope you do it!" House heard the echoing slap before the pain registered. He stumbled slightly to the right, and his leg buckled under him, sending him crashing to the floor. His leg protesting sharply, his cheek stinging and his face burning in shame, he pulled himself up on the table, leaving his cane a few feet away from him on the floor.  
"Bloody weakling!" John shouted "You make me ashamed! You pathetic son of a bitch!" House stood, leaning on the table, looking anywhere but at his father. John had a strange gleam in his eye as he crossed the room and bent over. House could see what he had found.  
"What're you doing?" he asked, panicking slightly. John turned around, holding his son's cane in both hands, smiling widely. "Hey, give that back!"  
"Shut up" John sneered. He raised his knee and snapped the wood across it. The cane shattered into two large pieces. House stared, astonished. John laughed and threw it on the floor. "Good luck" he murmured into House's ear, leaving the room. House looked at the broken stick on the floor, the injustice, fear and sadness building up into a suppressed cry. How the hell was he supposed to get back to his office? Let alone back home? His leg was already about to spasm due to the fall. Shoot. House rubbed his forehead, running his hand down to brush his scruff. He'd have to borrow crutches from the ER. So he just had to get from one end of the 2nd floor to the elevator on the other, get down to the basement, go back across the building and grab a crutch. Considering he could hardly walk fifty yards with the cane, it was going to be hell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Much shorter today, it's the middle f th night. Sorry for errors x**  
House pushed himself off the table and, steadying his leg, hobbled to the door. So far, so good. Opening the door, he leant against the wall with one shoulder and pulled his leg along behind him. He made it half way to the elevator before he was sweating with the exertion of walking and fighting spasms simultaneously. He stopped, put his back against the wall and took a Vicodin. Waiting a second or two for it to hit his system, he launched off the wall and continued his laboured journey. It took him fifteen minutes to limp to the elevator. The box was deserted. He took the opportunity to lean stiffly on the cool walls, unseen by human eyes. Sweat was rolling down his face, his leg itching to burst into full blown spasm, his heart rate rising. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened onto a quiet corridor. House knew he only had one left turn to make before he hit the bustle of the ER. He dragged himself along the corridor, dreading what he would meet at the other end. He entered the brightly lit, clinical ER, and was met by absolute chaos. Patients were waiting, moaning in pools of blood, whilst crazed nurses ran around trying to fix up the worst. It looked like two busses had crashed I to each other. About one hundred people were milling around, some screaming, almost all crying, the majority unseen by medical professionals. Bad day to need a doctor. House groaned. He could see the box that was usually stuffed with crutches of all shapes and sizes, and it was empty.  
"Somebody get me some help over here!" he yelled. No one listened. He was just another yelling patient that no one could get round to seeing. His leg spasmed under him, and he grabbed the nurses station to stop himself falling again. He knew that if he fell, he wouldn't get up for a long time, not until after the spasm wore off. It happened often enough for him to know what would exacerbate it. Frustrated, aching with sharpening pain, he turned away. There was nothing here, nothing that would help him. He had to get back to the elevator. His pulse was racing with the pain he was fighting desperately to control, his vision blurry with the sweat dripping into his eyes. He lurched across the hall, back to the elevator. He would get to Cuddy. She would help. He concentrated all his effort on getting down the hall and into the elevator. He had no choice. He hobbled and lunged his way closer and closer, until he almost fell inside the cool, music playing box that would take him to Cuddy. It went up one floor, to the lobby. He had to get across the lobby, through the Clinic and into Cuddy's office. It would be okay. He couldn't stand up straight, his breathing uneven and laboured as though he'd run a marathon. He limped through the lobby, attracting stares and whispered gossip from the nurses. He pushed thought the doors to the Clinic. Patients looked at him sympathetically, wondering why the poor cripple was in the free Clinic rather than the ER. Close to fainting, House bumped into Cuddy's office without announcing himself and collapsed on her couch.  
"House, what the hell are you doing? Your patient's crashing!"  
"I-I need..."  
"You need to go do your job!" she yelled, standing up from her desk and going to him. She noticed his sopping hair and shirt, his odd breathing, his thigh almost jumping with the spasm rocking through it. "Oh God" she exclaimed.  
"I-I..." House muttered  
"It's okay, I'm going to get you some meds to slow your heart rate"  
"I need pain meds... It's my leg... It hurts" he hissed though clenched teeth, his hand gripping the arm of her couch.  
"House, are you jerking me around?" she asked, hands on hips, lips pursed.  
"No- I-"  
"Because if you're out of Vicodin, there are easier ways to get some than faking this"  
"I'm not..." House was panicking, feeling his heart beat out of control. His leg straightened suddenly, causing his head to lol back into the wall and his eyes to roll back into his head. He grabbed his leg with both hands and held his lips tight shut to stop himself screaming.  
"House, if you're faking this, you'll be doing double Clinic duty for a month!" she threatened, just to see if he'd drop it. When he didn't, she took a vial of morphine she kept in a cabinet under her bookcase, and injected it into House's arm. Within moments, his dFace had relaxed slightly, and he let go of his leg.  
"Thank you" he slurred slightly "I... I lost my cane"  
"You lost it?" she said, incredulously  
"It broke. Dad... Snapped it..."  
"No way. He wouldn't break your cane, House. Look, if you'd just wanted opiates, you should have dipped into your secret stash, not come looking for me. Unless, of course, it was just get my attention" her voice faded into the background as House passed out. His head dropped to his left shoulder, and he fell into a deep sleep on Cuddy's couch. she sighed. He really was a liability sometimes. She'd have to get Wilson to talk to him about drug seeking in their own hospital.


	5. Chapter 5

House stirred, a crick presenting itself in his neck. He opened his eyes groggily. It was late in the evening, after work hours. Cuddy was sitting at her desk, her lamp casting her in a warm orange glow as she filled in paperwork. She had let her hair roll in front of her, her feather fringe illuminated by the desk lamp, her eyes shining from under long black lashes. House almost smiled. But then the residual pain hit his thigh like cramp. He grabbed it with both hands and rolled onto his back, trying not to cry out. Cuddy stood up and came to him. She loomed over his head as of evaluating his seriousness.

"Do you want me to massage it?" she asked softly, seeing the muscle twitch perceptibly under his jeans. House nodded a frantic yes without releasing his leg. He was biting almost through his bottom lip, blood beading under his teeth as he tried desperately not to make a noise. Cuddy pushed his hands away gently, and replaced them with her own. She used one hand to support the thigh, and the other to kneed down the craven that used to be a muscle with the heel of her hand. "It's okay, House. It'll be okay"

"It hurts" he whimpered, closing his eyes, trying to block out the spasming, burning pain radiating from it.

"I know. I know. It's okay" she murmured. She'd talked to a few nurses who had seen him stumbling around without his cane. She'd taken his pulse and BP, almost double the normal figures, and had come to the conclusion that he was telling the truth.

"Nothing changes" he whispered, his eyes closed, sweat dripping across them again.

"No?"

"He could never just... Never just let me... Be" he stammered, gritting his teeth

"Did he hurt you, House? When you were a child?" she dreaded the answer. But she knew it long before he opened his mouth after the minute's silence.

"Since I was four" he whispered, the pain dulling into a throb with Cuddy's gentle massage

"I'm so sorry. I should have known"

"Not your fault... Mine"

"No! No, it was never your fault! Not this, not anything else he ever did to you!"

"Should have been... Better"

"No, House. It's not you. It's him. I swear, you are not to blame" and he let himself cry.

"I'm sorry" he spluttered, wiping the tears away, ashamed.

"It's okay. You have nothing to be sorry for, House, nothing at all. If you want off the case, I understand. There are other doctors, in other hospitals"

"Weak..."

"No, it's not weak to avoid pain"

"You always say-"

"Ignore me. I'm not always right"

"Did someone get that on film?" he joked between gritted teeth.

"Do you want to drop the case?" there was a long pause

"No. I have to finish it. Besides, I reckon we got it right. I think it's cancer"

"Get Wilson to check, then we can refer him to an oncologist at home"

"Promise me you won't tell Wilson... What you found out..."

"I promise, if you want me to. But he could help. He could be there for you"

"I don't want him to know. I don't want him to look at me different. I don't want his pity"

"He won't pity you"

"Even if he doesn't, he'll spend the next ten years trying desperately to fix me"

"Okay, okay. I won't tell him" Cuddy smiled, gently rubbing her hand down the dip in his thigh.

"Thank you"

"No problem" she said quietly, her face coming dangerously close to his. He leaned forward very slightly, and their lips met in the middle. Cuddy's eyebrows shot up. She wasn't sure what she's wanted to happen, but she wasn't sure this was it. She let it hang for a second or two, before pulling away. As soon as his warm, moist lips were gone from hers, she missed them. She missed the tiny scratch of his stubble on her chin, the gentle urgency in which he had let himself sink into her. She went back in towards him, and they kissed properly. House was breathless. Cuddy was kissing him. Him! Misanthropic, rule-breaking, class A jerk, HIM! He had thought about this almost every day, certainly every night, since med school. And it was happening. And all the while he could feel the burning throb of his leg. It wasn't quite how it had played out in his fantasies. They broke apart, Cuddy ran a hand across his cheek, he leant into it.

"I-" House started. But she placed a finger on his lips and kissed his cheek.

"We should be heading home" she said softly

"Alone?" he asked, hopefully

"Alone" she confirmed. His shoulders slumped slightly as she stood up. "Your leg hurts. Maybe in a couple of days, we could go out? Dinner would be nice?"

"Yes. Yes, definitely" he said, hope inflating his chest and making his eyes light up despite the worsening of his leg pain now her hand had stopped rubbing. He stood up shakily, and Cuddy passed him a crutch she'd fetched from the ER once the accident panic had calmed down. They walked together in silence to the doors of the lobby. House leaned heavily on the crutch. He almost wished he had another, like in the days a few months after his surgery. His thigh was twitching.

"See you tomorrow, House" Cuddy said at the door.

"Bye Cuddy" they exited in different directions.

**Vote: A) House and Cuddy sleep together, John finds out and tries to kill the relationship**

**B) Cuddy changes her mind and John rubs House's face in it**


	6. Chapter 6

John House was fuming. His friend was in a coma, his son couldn't be bothered to do his job right. He was meant to be a genius. John had never seen that in him, always thought Blythe and his teachers were overplaying it, making him seem better than he was. John had taken the kid down a few notches many times. He smiled to himself, thinking of how effective the physical punishments had been. It had made the boy strong, obedient, resilient. He congratulated himself. Without him, if this whole thing with the boys leg was as bad as they all made out, he would be in a wheelchair. John had done him a favour. He gathered his pride together and put it in a separate compartment, ready for next time he wanted to dwell on his success. The anger returned. It was after dark, the boy would have gone home by now. John thought to himself, and couldn't remember ever being to his son's home. This was his chance. He picked up his bag and made his way outside the hospital. He smiled at the receptionist.

"Do you know if Dr. House has left work yet?"

"I have to ask why you need that information, sir" she said in a sweet southern accent.

"I'm his father. I was going to buy him some dinner" he said smoothly. The girl smiled and nodded.

"Yes, he left around half an hour ago."

"Thank you so much" he said, charmingly. As he turned away, a small smile of victory twitched at the corners of his mouth.

House sat at his piano, not playing, just running his fingers up and down the ivory keys. The piano had been a gift from his mother, like all his pianos had been. Cuddy had kissed him. He ran his fingers up and down the keys, playing Boomtown Rats, 'I don't like Mondays'. He smiled, remembering his student life, playing that song over an over. He'd used it as an alarm clock in '79. House heard a knock on the door and looked up, puzzled. It was late evening, well after nine, and he wasn't expecting anyone. Usually this late, it was Wilson, but that wasn't his knock. The knock was demanding, commandeering, as though the knocker was refraining from kicking the door in. House realised, quite suddenly, who it was. His blood went cold, freezing in his veins. HE couldn't be here, not at his home. Not at the one place he'd felt safe in for the last few decades. House got to his feet on auto pilot and had opened the door before he'd thought about it at all. John stood before him, studying him. House felt small, as he had done in childhood when his father would make him stand for hours and be inspected. He couldn't help feeling ashamed of his appearance. He was a few days later than normal on shaving, so his stubble was dark, almost classifying as a beard. He wore old, torn jeans and a large grey hoodie, and gripped one of his oldest canes, a plain matt oak one with a curved handle.

"Good evening, Gregory"

"Good evening, father" House murmured

"Aren't you going to invite me inside?"

"I- I guess. Come in" House stood to the side and John went in, looking around with an air of definite disapproval.

"It's a little grimy" he said "and untidy"

"I like it"

"I don't" he looked at his son with a withering expression.

"Right. Was there a particular reason you came this evening?"

"I wanted to talk to you. Is that a crime?"

"No. But you've never just wanted to talk to me in my life"

"True. I don't know why I'm wasting my time."

"Was there anything in particular you wanted to say?" House said, jutting out his chin in a defiance he hadn't bothered with since his late teens. He had the presence of Cuddy, he had her love, inside him, strengthening him.

"If Peter Jones dies, I will ensure that you have an... accident that will leave you even worse off than with that pathetic stick of yours"

"Are you threatening me?" House stood close to his father, trying to appear intimidating.

"Yes. I am" John took a half step forward, getting himself a quarter inch taller than his son. "And you know that I always come through on my threats"

"I'm not a child anymore. You can't do anything to me"

"You just watch me. I got away with it for fourteen years, Gregory, I can do anything u want to you, whenever I want" House felt his heart skip a beat, remembering exactly what it was that his father could do.

"Get out of my home"

"No"

"Get out"

"No. I have no desire to leave yet. Will your boss be around tonight?"

"Leave her out of it" he said. He couldn't let Cuddy get hurt.

"You're going to do everything I say until I leave New Jersey when Peter recovers. I will bring her into this. Think of what I could do, Gregory. Think all the different ways I could hurt her" House shuddered as his father gripped his arm, pulling him back into a reel of memories he had pushed deep down inside. Memories of beatings and sleeping outside and being locked in the cupboard and made to sit in ice for sometimes hours on end. He pushed away the thoughts of Cuddy exposed to the same treatments.

"What do you want?" He said, looking away from his father's face. He couldn't let anything happen to Cuddy. He felt his father let go of his arm, saw it rise, and watched it as though in slow, inevitable motion, as it smashed into his face.


	7. Chapter 7

When House limped in the next morning, he was slower than normal, lopsided, wincing with each step. A large, purple bruise extended over his right eye, ending in a series of yellowing ones at his nose. His jaw was shadowed by another bruise, almost black. His lip was split down the middle. He managed to get to his office without too many puzzled looks, and he collapsed into his yellow chair, gently, urgently rubbing his sore leg. He had been up all night, long after John had left, after he had regained consciousness after passing out after being hit in the head with the handle of his cane. His leg was bruised, three shoe sized, purple bruises extending across the cavern where his thigh used to be. House coughed a little, bracing his ribs against the shock. He was exhausted. He shut his eyes for a moment, and as he did so, Cuddy walked in.

"House! What the hell happened?"

"I- nothing. I got in a fight, that's all. Too much to drink"

"You went from our... Thing in my office to a bar? It meant that little to you?"

"No! No, Lisa, it meant a lot to me, you don't understand-"

"I understand perfectly"

"No you don't, listen, I swear, it wasn't like that"

"Your leg was hurting too much for you to go out"

"Lisa, I-"

"It wasn't really hurt at all, was it?" Her eyes flashed with murderous anger "you really are a piece of work, you know that? Whoever beat you up had the right idea! You faked severe pain just to get high? You let me kiss you. You wanted me to kiss you. A-class manipulator. I should have known"

"Cuddy, I swear, you're wrong" House tried.

"Oh my God, you even made crap up about your childhood! I can't believe you would use something like that just for sympathy to try and get me to sleep with you! People actually go through things like that, House, not that you'd care. Real children have to suffer and you dared to use that as a way to get into my pants. You disgust me" she looked furious

"You can consider the whole of last night forgotten. I can't believe you would be that selfish, House. I didn't know you were capable of sinking this low" Cuddy turned on her ridiculously high heals and clicked away from him. House wanted to collapse, but settled for putting his head in his hands. He had tried so hard. He had let all this happen to keep her safe. But she didn't need him. His father's words echoed in his mind 'you will never be good enough for her, and you're pathetic for trying. They'll be laughing at you.' It's not true, he told himself with the conviction of a child promising himself he'd do his homework after video games. That moment, Chase came in.

"God, are you okay?"

"I don't know about God, even I'm not that evil, but yes, I'm fine"

"What happened?"

"Got in a fight"

"With who?"

"Well, there was this Englishman, Scotsman and an Irishman, and they all walked into this bar and-"

"Okay, okay, you don't need to tell me, I get it"

"Aw, I had a good joke there"

"Peter Jones crashed last night. It's not cancer, it's moving too fast and not responding to any of our treatments"

"Right" House braced himself and hauled his legs up out of the chair. He limped to the whiteboard, ignoring Chase's concerned looks, and leaned against it. He looked at the conference table, where his other fellows were sitting, waiting for him to come up with something. He felt slightly woozy, and he grabbed hold of the top of the board to keep from tipping over. "Okay... So, we were wrong about cancer" he struck it off the board "and Cushing's, Wilson's, Vitamin K, diabetes, Cluster headaches, and infection" he put a lone through them all. "Go"

"The guy spent most of his adult life traveling. Maybe he picked up a foreign disease?" Forman suggested.

"No. He'll have had shots. More likely picked up something here"

"How 'bout multiple sclerosis?" Chase asked, still looking worried

"Not a bad one. But he would have had exhaustion too"

"Lyme?"

"No rash"

"Lupus?" Cameron suggested tentatively

"Seriously? You've worked here how long? It's never lupus. What if he's lying?" House asked, exploring the path in his mind

"He'd have a hard time keeping it up all this time" Foreman said

"Wait!" House almost jumped at his epiphany moment, light bounding into his bruised eye. He set off as fast as his bruised, crippled leg could carry him, towards the patient's room. He didn't knock, but went straight inside, ignoring his father and speaking directly to Peter. "You didn't have any trouble keeping it up" he said simply

"What?" Peter said, nonplused

"You've been at it like a rabbit with some foreign girl! Or guy, whatever floats your boat. More likely a guy. You got Neurosyphilis"

"What!" John shouted, making his son flinch slightly, jumping away from his friend "he's got an STD?"

"Yip. Went to his brain, been wreaking havoc on everything"

"He doesn't have a sexually transmitted disease" John snarled, advancing slightly

"Yes, he does. Everything leads to it. There's nothing left"

"Find something else"

"No. This is the answer"

"Some effing doctor you are, you can't even come up with something not involving sex. Probably since that's all that goes through your sick little mind" John as gritting his teeth, standing close to House again, the two faces almost touching, an image of confrontation. Chase sucked in his breath. The man just insulted his bosses medical abilities and, by proxy, Lisa Cuddy.

"Your opinion means nothing to me, Dad" House squared up to him. Quite suddenly, John's anger overtook him and his fist collided with his son's face. Cameron screamed as House staggered back, clutching his nose, which was spraying blood over his arms and clothes, and landed in Chase's arms. The younger man steadied the older, and House looked furious. "Get out" he said coldly, catching the blood now pouring quickly in bursts from his nose in his cupped hand

"You're a damned coward, Gregory!"

"Get out" he said again, with no anger in his voice, just pure hatred

"You got some nerve, son, telling me what to do! You'll effing well do as you're effing told! I told you, Pete doesn't have an STD. You're wrong, and you're going to try harder"

"I think you should leave, Mr House" Foreman said, ice dripping from his voice. John looked between his son and the younger man. House, still trying to catch the flow of blood, but not succeeding, looked him in the eye with such dislike that he had to look away. John pushed past House, Chase and Cameron, slamming the sliding door behind him. Foreman followed him out, wanting to make sure he left.

"What the hell?" Chase asked

"Cameron, get me a cloth or something" House murmured, actually feeling fuzzier than he had before, the blood now soaking into his shirt and creating a slick puddle on the floor. He held a pond in his hand, still crammed under his nose to catch the stream. Cameron grabbed him some paper towels and shoved them between his nose and hand. He held them there, letting the handful of blood spill to the floor, splashing slightly on the tiles. "Right. You have Neurosyphilis. You'll be fine. You might need surgery. You'll be discharged soon" he said to Peter, his voice muffled. Chase took his elbow and gently led him away, back to his office. When House was settled into his yellow chair, leaning forward to let the blood out, Chase finally spoke.

"House, what the hell was that?"

"Dad's a douche. People like me tend to have douche's for fathers"

"People like you?"

"Assholes" there was silence for a moment while House adjusted the towel under his nose in order to absorb more of the flow that wasn't subsiding yet.

"You're not an asshole, House"

"Sorry, I thought I was the one who got hit in the face. What universe have you been living in?"

"One where I can see behind that cold act you put on all the time. Your Dad... he creeped me out"

"How?"

"I don't know. I just felt... threatened, uncomfortable I guess. Did he ever-"

"No"

"I just thought, cause he was so quick to-"

"Leave it, Chase"

"But I-"

"Shut up. Cuddy will be up soon, to yell at me and tell me how all this is my fault"

"Okay. I'll go see if Foreman managed to eject the bastard"

"Okay" House said. Chase left the room. The blood was definitely slowing, dripping rather than gushing, but he could feel it dribbling down his throat, the iron feeling disgustingly tangy there. He sat forward for a few minutes, his eyes tight shut, wishing he could stop his team from having seen that. From having seen him at a low point. From having witnessed his pain at the hands of his own father. It would give them all ideas.


	8. Chapter 8

Lisa Cuddy was furious. When Foreman had come into her office, she had expected him to be complaining about House, and she wasn't wrong, even if it was not quite what she had imagined.

"Dr Cuddy, we have a problem" Foreman had said, peering around the door to her office

"What is it now?" She asked, resignedly

"House's Dad just punched him in the face. There's blood everywhere, and I just escorted him out of the hospital"

"What did he do to make his dad punch him?"

"He diagnosed his friend with Neurosyphilis"

"So?"

"Evidently House Sr. didn't want his friend to have an STD"

"Oh. And I bet he told them with no respect or kindness or comfort"

"Yeah. He came down straight after he figured it out. All he was thinking about was the diagnosis"

"Thank you Dr Foreman, I'll go and deal with it in a moment. I just need to finish this" she gestured to her paperwork.

"Thank you"

And now, as she got into the elevator, she was angry. Angry that House had pissed off someone else, angry that he would get away with it, just like always, and angry that he would not be sorry. A hint of worry came in too. If his father's reaction to something he didn't like was to smash his son's face in, what did that say about the rest of House's life? Maybe what he'd told her the other day hadn't been as untrue as she'd thought.

"House" she snapped, coming into his office without knocking, as he had done so many times to her.

"Hey" he said, still holding the towel under his nose, but the blood was slowing a lot now, seeping gently into the soaked fabric. He was leaning forward, letting the blood exit, leaning his elbows on his knees. He looked pitiful. Cuddy softened.

"I heard your father hit you."

"Yes."

"How bad is it?" She relented, sitting down on his foot stool

"It's nearly stopped bleeding"

"Good. Do you feel dizzy or nauseous?"

"Yeah, but I felt those this morning"

"You didn't really get into a bar fight did you?"

"No. He..."

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me, I get it"

"Cuddy, I..."

"Shh" she said, pulling his hand away from his face. His nose had stopped bleeding but his whole face was smeared with blood, his hands sticky with it, his clothes spattered. His nose was clearly broken, it was swollen, pale and veins showed up under the skin. Cuddy shuddered slightly at the thought of getting smashed so hard in the face that your nose shattered. "It's broken"

"Obviously. You wanna set it, or shall I ask Chase?"

"I-" Cuddy looked at all the blood covering his face. Did she really want to touch that? "I think you should ask Chase, I don't want anywhere near it"

"Right. Okay." He said, looking away. Immediately, she felt guilty, worried about how harsh she'd sounded.

"House, I'll do it, it's okay"

"No. You don't want to, there's no reason to make you do something you don't want to do" he said, a hint of accusation in his voice

"I'll do it, it's fine"

"It's been so many years since you were last a real doctor, I'm not sure I want you screwing around with my face, thanks" the cold in his tone made her shiver slightly

"Now that's not fair! I am a doctor, I can do everything you can do!"

"I am a much better doctor than you are"

"No one is as good as you think you are, House. You're just an arrogant, lucky, screwed up guy who thinks he's more than he is!" there was silence. House caught a few more drops of blood in the soaked towel.

"Is that what you think?" He asked quietly

"Yes"

"My success rate is over 98%. I only take patients that dozens of other doctors have failed to diagnose. I take risks, and almost always, I'm right. But you don't care. You have no interest in whether patients live or die, you've made it your life's mission to make sure I get some 'humanity'. You have no idea how much it sucks not to be trusted by my boss, when I am, statistically, the best doctor in the world"

"You're overreacting because of the blood loss," she dismissed. How could that be how he saw her?

"I quit. I don't want to work with you anymore"

"You can't quit"

"Why is that, Dr Cuddy?"

"If you go, we'll lose almost half our funding"

"Ah, I'd forgotten donors. Maybe they're even more important to you than instilling humility in me. I still quit."

"If you walk out that door, you can never come back. You're unemployable, House!" She almost shouted. He didn't move from his chair.

"I get thirty job offers a week. They all want to pay me double. I stay here because I enjoy it here. But if you think like all that about me, I don't want to be around you."

"But you can't keep another job, you need me" she said confidently

"I came here because I wanted to work with you. Doesn't mean nowhere else wanted me. If you'll excuse me, I need to get Chase to fix this, and pack up my things. Unless you want the two weeks notice."

"You're not quitting"

"Get out"

"No"

"I'm not in the mood for you being a toddler, Cuddy, get out of my office, and I'll send you a letter of resignation. I'll be gone by the end of the day." He looked away from her, folding the towel in half, capturing the blood that was about to soak through, and dabbed the remnants of it off his face. He was still tinged red, his hands still sticky with it, but he looked less zombie-ish. Cuddy stared at him, trying to figure out what he wanted.

"Look, if you like, I'll give you a pay rise, you're a bit behind on one"

"Wilson gets paid almost double my salary. You've never paid fair"

"I got you cheap, no one else wanted you"

"No. I just turned everyone else down."

"You can do half the clinic hours"

"Other hospitals won't make me do clinic at all. I'm handicapped, remember? You seem to forget it half the time, which is a pretty impressive feat considering it was you who made them cut five pounds of muscle out of my leg!"

"Stacy-"

"No. You didn't tell me. You were my doctor, and you told her and not me. That makes it your fault. I could have been fine"

"You would have died!"

"That would have been better!" He yelled, standing up. He went to his desk and sat down at his chair.

"You don't mean that" Cuddy whispered "you're in pain, but it's not that bad"

"You have no idea. I hit a nine on the pain scale at least once a month. I have spasms so bad I can't breathe to scream at least once a week. I sleep three hours a night. I can't eat. Just last month, my heart nearly stopped and I had to get Wilson to give me CPR. You have no idea how much it hurts, how much I wish you'd got your ass of the fence and gone all or nothing!"

"I... you never told me it was that bad..."

"This week, I came to your office, obviously in agony. You yelled at me, tried to tell me I was making it up, and accused me of drug seeking before you gave me the meds I needed to stop me going into shock from the pain. You could have killed me, Cuddy, and you don't even realise. Now GET OUT!" He was breathing heavily, his voice risen to a shout by the end of his speech.

"I'm sorry, House, I didn't know"

"I told you enough. Not knowing implies total, pigheaded ignorance. Now, I quit. Please get out of my office"

"I'm not going anywhere"

"For God's sake, Cuddy! On top of everything else, my Dad just punched my face in, in front of my team, so that's another thing to add to the pain list, they'll all feel sorry for me and assume he hit me when I was a kid, and you won't even leave my office when I quit this underpaid, painful, practically illegal job!"

"Fine, I'll go. But if you leave, you will never have a job here again, you understand?"

"Yes. I don't want one"

"Good" she turned around and left the room, not letting anyone see the tears that had started to fall down her face. House grabbed his pager and send Chase a message 'come', then put his head on the desk, cradling it in his arms. He felt weak, dizzy, tired and sick. His head was hurting, his nose throbbing, and the other injuries his father had given him were heavy on his body. His leg hurt worse than usual because of the kicking it had received. Within a minute or so, Chase entered the room with a medi-kit.

"Wanna fix my nose?"

"Yeah, sure." Chase knelt down next to House's chair and began to gently wipe away the blood that was all over his face from the violent spurting. Incredibly gently, he aligned the bones again, and splinted it. House looked into the distance the whole time, occasionally flinching when the other man touched his swelling nose. "So... Your Dad's a bit of a lose cannon"

"Yeah"

"Bet you two got on like a house on fire"

"Yip"

"My Dad was a loser too. But he was just... Absent. Whenever he'd promise to come, he'd always have an excuse. He left us when I was a teenager. I hated him."

"Me too"

"You hated your dad?"

"That's what I said"

"Did he hit you when you were a kid?"

"Yes"

"Oh. I'm sor-"

"Nothing to do with you"

"Sorry" Chase patched up the rest of the wound. "House, your pupils are different sizes" he said, worried

"It's fine" House rolled his eyes. Chase got out his penlight and shone it into his bosses eyes.

"Your pupils aren't responding to light"

"I'll be fine"

"Do you have a headache, nausea, dizziness, anything?"

"Yeah, but I'm fine, Chase"

"Did you get hit on the head recently?"

"I'm fine!"

"House!" Chase yelled as the older man slid off his seat, bashing his head on the desk, and began to convulse.


	9. Chapter 9

They sat at the kitchen table, the father at the head, mother and son opposite each other in the middle. The boy was silent, eating his burnt slice of toast with his eyes cast downwards. He'd learnt a long time ago that he wasn't allowed to talk at the table. The parents ate their roast beef, the mother averting her worried eyes from her boy, the father staring intensely at him.

"Get out of my sight, I can't look at you" the father spat, finally looking away. The boy got up immediately, taking his plate to sit on the back porch.

"John, we hardly ever eat as a family anymore, can't he stay?"

"No. He needs to learn that sitting with us is a privilege, not a right. Same with food. Bring it back, boy" he barked. Greg turned and replaced his plate on the table, still silent, and returned to the porch. "I'll deal with you later. Wait there until I come for you" John called to the boy.

"Oh John, why can't he eat? He's so thin. His teachers say he faints. You can feel every bone when you hug him. I'm worried. He's only nine."

"Hush now dear. He's fine. He's learning to be a man".

The little boy sat in the corner, his back wedged into the wall, his knees on his chest, his arms wrapped around them. He wasn't crying. He wasn't allowed to cry. Instead, teardrops of blood dripped from a cut above his left eyebrow. He was covered in bruises, his pale face a stark contrast with the black fist sized marks. His father was standing a foot or so away, watching him. He held a brown leather belt, the shadow of which was imprinted countless times on the little boy's back.

"What are you, Gregory?" John growled, out of breath.

"A bad boy sir" he whispered.

"What happens to bad boys?"

"They get punished, sir"

"That's right. How have you been bad this week, boy?"

"I fainted at school. I stole food. I asked to sleep inside. I was two minutes late home. I daydreamed at dinner. I forgot to say sir. I didn't ask to go to the toilet. I... peed my pants."

"Are you sure you got everything?"

"I think so." He said hesitantly. If he forgot something, punishment doubled. It hadn't even started yet and he felt awful. He just wanted to go to bed.

"Wrong" Greg flinched "you were humming whilst you did your homework"

"I'm sorry sir!" he said frantically

"Double punishment today, double drills tomorrow, half food for the next week"

"Yes sir" Greg shook. John took a long, willowy stick from the top shelf of one of the bookcases and beckoned his son to stand.

"Hand or knees?"

"Hand please" Greg said. The backs of his knees were already covered in purple lines. He held his left hand steady in front of him with his right, stopping it from shaking. The cane swished before it cracked down on the flesh of his palm. Greg flinched. Not a sound left his mouth until the 40th stroke, when he let out an agonised yelping cry. John automatically dropped the cane and punched the child in the face. Greg fell into the wall and sank down it. John kicked him in the stomach, bashing him over and over into the wall.

"House? House! Open your eyes" a voice called him from beyond the vast expanse of white that stretched above him. He opened his eyes slowly, looking up at the white ceiling of PPTH's patient room.

"Wha..."

"It's okay," said the voice "you had a skull fracture. You had a seizure and then collapsed. We had to do some surgery on it, and it'll be sore for a while. You've been in a coma for three days." House looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. A blonde, young man stood near his bed.

"Who're you?" He slurred

"It's Chase. Robert Chase. I'm one of your fellows. Do you remember me, House?"

"Where's my Mom?"

"Um- I don't know?"

"Where's... HE?"

"Your dad? He's not allowed back in the hospital, House, he punched you"

"I'm at Princeton?"

"Yeah" the voice sounded so relieved. Who was it?

"Where's... I can't remember... W-W-W..."

"Wilson?"

"Yes"

"He's gone out to get us some lunch. I'll call him"

"No!" House stopped him

"I... Who are you again?"

"Robert Chase. You hired me to work on your diagnostics team a few years ago. Your other fellows are Eric Foreman and Allison Cameron. Do you remember us?"

"No. I know Mom. HIM. Cuddy?"

"Yes, she's your boss"

"Not just that... Something else too. And I remember Wilson"

"You know who he is?"

"No. Brother?"

"Not really, he's your best friend. But I've never seen two straight guys as close as you two are. You're practically brothers" Chase smiled. House looked around him, his head thudding. He knew some things. Some people.

"I am a doctor, right?"

"Yeah. You're the best" Chase sounded worried now. That, House recognised. He remembered the man now.

"Pneumonoultramicroscopicsili covolcanoconiosis"

"Huh?"

"Just testing my medical knowledge. It's a lung disease caused by inhaling silica dust. I feel weird" his head was throbbing with dull pain, he could feel the muscles behind his eyes straining to keep them open. He felt sick. "Pass the trash can" Chase grabbed it and thrust it into House's hands just as the older man chucked up the meagre contents of his stomach. At that moment, Wilson came back in. He rushed to his friend's side and began rubbing his back as his stomach convulsed. After a few minutes of dry heaving, acid burning the back of his throat, House collapsed flat on the bed again, pale and sweaty. He closed his eyes, and, before long, he was asleep.

"How was he when he woke up?" Wilson whispered urgently

"He seemed a bit out of it. He didn't know who I was at first, but after a few minutes he recognised me. He knew you, Cuddy, his Mom and his father. Then he started testing himself on his medical knowledge, reciting horrendously long names for diseases"

"That sounds like him." Wilson smiled "what about physically?" They both looked over to him. His face was still shadowed with the huge black eye and the swelling bruises on his broken nose. His hospital robe revealed bruises down his arms and legs.

"He was okay. Do you think his dad did all this to him? These new bruises, I mean."

"I don't know. It looks like he got him with his cane a bunch of times. Maybe that's why he had the skull fracture"

"If he was so violent, then surely there's the possibility that he was the same when House was a kid."

"I don't know, Chase, I just don't know. But I hope not. I really hope not"


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry for that wrong chapter update! It was meant to be attached to my story 'The Watson's Care' in Sherlock. I'll post a new one for the call sometime tonight! Sorry again! X


	11. Chapter 11

House woke up again the next morning, looking slightly less like shit. It was Wilson sitting by his bed this time, his eyes closed, his tie askew. House took his glass of water and emptied it down the Oncologist's neck. Wilson jumped awake, gasping, and stared at House's amused features.

"Not as zoned out as you look then."

"I figure it's the p-perfect opportunity to play a couple of p-pranks. People are much more forgiving when you're in hospital."

"Glad to see you're back to your old self.'

"N-not really"

"What's wrong?" Wilson leant forward, worried.

"Damn stutter. Someone s-screwed my head back w-wrong"

"It should go away soon. Don't worry about it."

"I-I sound like a k-kid"

"I had a stutter when I was a kid too. Didn't get over it until I was twelve"

"I-I didn't lose it until I-I left home. D-dad wasn't a fan of it" he said darkly

"Oh. Fair enough" Wilson looked away from his friend. "It should go away within the next few days, House. Don't worry about it. You fractured your skull pretty badly. How'd that happen?"

"Accident"

"Oh yeah? And that's the same accident where you got all the bruises shaped like boots and the end of your cane, is it?"

"W-Wilson... Don't go there, okay?"

"No, you have to talk about it! If he beat you up the other day, you need to tell me, and we can press charges"

"I don't want to p-press charges."

"Why the hell not? He put you in hospital, House!"

"Cops, they d-don't listen. They d-don't care"

"You've tried to tell them before, haven't you?" Wilson looked piteously at his friend.

"A couple of t-times. When I was a k-kid. Once when I'd just finished med school. There's no p-point."

"But if you've complained a few times, then they have to take notice eventually."

"No they don't. C-Cuddy put a huge 'Drug s-seeker' sticker on my f-file, and now no one will ever listen to m-me."

"But this isn't drug seeking, House! This is reporting GBH and child abuse!"

"They don't c-care, Wilson!"

"They'll have to"

"They w-won't" he sounded sure. So sure it made Wilson want to cry.

"Okay. Okay. If that's what you want, we won't say anything."

"Thank you"

"So, do you want to watch General Hospital?"

"I always w-want to watch General Hospital." House grinned, flipping on the TV. They satin comfortable silence until the show climaxed and finished on a 'gripping cliffhanger'.

"How do you stand the suspense?" Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You know me, always on tenterhooks." They laughed, House bracing his ribs with his arm. After a while, House's face became somber again, "How long do they want to keep me in here?"

"Until you're better."

"And when has everyone decided that will be?"

"About a week"

"A week!"

"You were in a coma for three days! I think you could cope with another five days in hospital!"

"I'm fine n-now!"

"You're still displaying neurological symptoms, and you've only just had surgery on the floating rib!"

"Like you said, the s-stammer will go away, especially if I do s-speech therapy."

"Which you might as well do here!"

"What does Chase think?"

"Why do you care?"

"I trust his opinion"

"But you don't trust mine?" It wasn't really a question

"Yeah, I do. But he's an intensive c-care guy, and look where I am" House swung his arm painfully around the ICU room, flinching.

"Okay, fine. Chase thinks you should only need three days in ICU, and then two down in a normal room."

"And you think?"

"I think you should stay for five in ICU and two in a normal room."

"Why?"

"You're not ready to go home"

"I can take care of myself!"

"Obviously not, House" Wilson said, sweeping his hand across the air in front of his friend. House stared at him. That was low. He let a tiny bit of the betrayal and hurt show in his eyes before rolling over onto his side and pulling the covers up to his nose. "Sorry." Wilson said quietly on his way out. House rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe he couldn't take care of himself. Maybe he really was weak and incapable. If Wilson thought so... House thought through his body, remembering the countless scars, lumps and marks. The cavern that used to be his thigh was the most painful as well as the most ugly. His back was a myriad of lines from various stages through his childhood and adolescence. W

There were a few straight, perfectly horizontal lines on his left forearm that he had put there himself. Maybe he wasn't ready to leave the hospital. For his current injuries, and for his job. Perhaps he wasn't ready to leave PPTH. Perhaps he was still too weak.


End file.
